


Bet You Won't

by ohsostarryskyed



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Clint is a bad influence, Gen, Hawkeyes fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2083839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohsostarryskyed/pseuds/ohsostarryskyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loud music, smokey atmospheres, and the thump of billiard balls; bars can be a great place for friends, especially when those friends are Kate Bishop and Clint Barton, notorious schemers and hardheaded extraordinaires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bet You Won't

**Author's Note:**

> I have an extreme need for Hawkeye(s) doing stupid shit, and it came to my attention that Kate would probably be a really awesome pool shark.

"I've never really played all that much," Kate is saying, arms spread wide in innocence. She's carefully peering down at the table in front of her, watching intently as a striped ball shoots forward and into its intended pocket; she scowls. Losing sucks.

"It's just for fun," a man answers, polishing the end cap with the blue piece of chalk kept nearby. Too much chalk, she notes, but says nothing, and awkwardly leans her arm flat against the surface of the table, the fibers angrily reaching to meet her skin. Using her other arm to steady the pool stick, she places the end between her pointer and middle fingers as a guide. She rears back, elbow taut, eyebrows knit together; in the distance, an old sound system is blasting what appears to be a classic rock song. Eyes flitting from billiard to solid orange to vibrant purple, Kate lifts up onto her toes for momentum, shooting the stick forward and - misses. The billiard skyrockets away, spinning dangerously against the edge and knocking more than one of her opponent's balls into the end pockets.

Within minutes, she is beaten, and she she sighs as she watches the man laugh jauntily as he replaces the balls in their triangle formation.

Damn. Losing really, really sucks. 

"I bet you fifty bucks she'll win next time," a voice drawls out from behind, its owner sidestepping the young woman and pointing a finger towards her. Ashy blonde, scruffy, and clearly an expert at consuming the stuff sold in bars, Clint Barton smirks as he fishes around in his pocket, humming along to whatever song is floating through the air.

"Yeah, okay, and I bet you seventy-five she won't stand a chance" Kate's previous opponent said, laughing heartily. Having had enough to drink, he was less proficient at pool than usual, but more than a little willing to make money off of someone drunker than himself. Poor sod, he thinks, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to take the opportunity. Kate shrugs in confirmation, and once again reaches for that godawful stick. Might as well, right?

\--

"Check," she says, laughing as she hitches herself forward, tapping the end if the pool stick just enough to send the billiard cascading off the side of the table and into a group of brightly colored, solid pool balls. Trajectory correct, it slams itself into the side of the red one with a loud crack, sending it and the green flying off towards their intended destinations. 

It's just a lucky shot, she insists to the man across her; since the beginning of the game, the color has drained from his cheeks, and he's gripping his own stick tight enough to whiten his knuckles. He couldn't be seeing this, right? Looking from the girl to the table again, he scowls, determined to erase this luck of hers, and so when he treads towards the ball to shoot, his body is as stiff iron. Splitting forward, the annoyingly white ball careens off the side of one of Kate's, changing directions to throw itself and two - hah! - striped balls dangerously close to a pocket.

When they stop, he growls, but Kate merely reaches forward and shoots, knocking one of her opponents balls into a pocket as she does. She frowns at him, but watches as the cue ball skips toward the last ball needed for a win, its speed expertly applied and completely on target.

Boom.  
\-- 

The air is laden with smoke and sweat, but Kate isn't sure she minds; trailing the back of her hand across a creased forehead, the look of determination on her face should be enough to frighten most men - but most men are smart enough not to get in the way of Kate Bishop. Of course, he's blocking the exit and of course, she's fighting the urge to roll her eyes, because not only is she in a situation - duh, she always is, jeez - with a small mob, she's surrounded. Naturally.

Someone shuffles, mumbling, feeling the tension in the air. Another person sneezes. Kate scoffs, empty hands in front of her, attempting to placate the tension in the air. It isn't her fault, really, that she's good at pool, and it REALLY isn't her fault that Clint was the one who suggested a bet, but, as usual, she has to fix the problem. She smiles, backing towards the table, hand groping for the pool stick she had so expertly handled minutes before. 

"Look...," she tries, brain searching for an answer. A moment passes, and she sighs. "You're the idiot who fell for it." She finishes, snatching up her purchase and shifting her weight just as the man to her left snarls and barrels forward, fists catching air; Kate turns, feet planted, and shoves outward, throwing his momentum forward with a small lift. He flies, suddenly, screaming in surprise as his body crashes up and onto the velvet covered surface. The crowd shifts around her and she pivots, stick thrust forward, its butt jamming into the ribs of a friend of the man on the table. He howls, cuffing her on the shoulder and reaching for anything within reach to use as a weapon. 

In an instant, Clint steps forward, raising his arms to deflect the blow before kicking out at the perpetrator, but - naturally, as the universe wouldn't have it any other way, no - they are surrounded within a minute or two, adrenaline and the love of a good fight filling the space around them.

"Okay, this looks bad."

"Clint, you're an asshole," Kate says, dodging another blow and ducking through the crowd towards the door. Finding herself an opening, she pushes one last patron aside and twists her arm away from another, grabbing the back of her companion's t-shirt. Once outside, the two of them collapse into laughter, and Kate Bishop can't help but put her arm around Clint's shoulders.

"Did you at least get your money?"

"Where did you learn to hustle pool?"

"Where did you learn to annoy me?"

As they walk down the sidewalk, sounds of the dying fight and aftermath drift out, muffled against the panes of glass; the air is still, and beside her, Clint fishes some crumpled bills from his pocket. She groans - maybe Clint knows what he's doing after all.


End file.
